


honeywater

by weefaol



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Desperate Dean, Feminization, Frottage, Intersex, M/M, Masturbation, Sam In Panties, Sam has a pussy, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14079564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: Sam has a pussy and Dean wants to fuck it.





	honeywater

Ever since he was born, Sam’s always been a little different.

He’s made up of different parts, wires that cross and short circuit. Some say it’s bad mechanics, but Sam knows better. He knows he’s _special_.

Dean’s always told him he’s special.

~~~

Sam spends a lot of time in libraries, wading through biology books. Running his teenaged fingers over sheepish diagrams, indexing words like _gonads_ , _gametes_ , _chromosomes_. He’s never been one or the other, so he strings the letters together: _XXY_.

At night, when he’s alone, he lets trembling fingertips slide south, touching and teasing around his petal edges. He thumbs at the head of his pretty little clit-dick and it makes him drip honeywater. Sometimes he wears panties to catch the dew.

Sometimes he pretends he’s asleep and watches Dean pull those same panties out of his bag, hold them to his face and inhale before wrapping them around his swollen seven-incher. Watches Dean jerk off until he comes pearl-white on pink silk, then tucks them away till laundry day.

If he only knew the sweet perfume of Sam’s boycunt spelled out _b-r-o-t-h-e-r_.

~~~

Sam knows it’s been five weeks since Dean’s gotten laid. He knows because he keeps track — scribbles down every bed-time story Dean whispers to him under the sheets. Takes crib notes.

And whenever Dean leaves to try his luck with late-night barsluts, Sam lazes on motel beds, reading and re-reading about his big brother’s favourite things — brazilian waxes, tongue rings, and knowing that _just the tip_ is never _just the tip_. And, as he reads, Sam gets jealous, not only of how easy Dean has it — he doesn’t have to explain himself or his parts; he can just whip his dick out, find a hole, and fuck it — but of the funny _filled up_ feeling his girls all seem to mewl about. With each teenaged day, month, year that passes by, Sam feels more and more like he has a missing piece — that he’s empty somehow.

So when Dean comes home one night, liquored up and looking to slip inside something warm, Sam can’t help but insinuate.

“I can smell you,” says Dean, pulling off his shirt and jeans in the dark.

“Sorry,” Sam whispers, face flushing hot. He’s been finger-rubbing at his ridges and the room reeks of cunt-musk. His skin smells like pheromones.

Dean climbs into bed and presses up against Sam’s back — rock hard and in heat. Nudges his cock against his ass, micro-fucking his hips against the little wet patch in Sam's shorts. “Jesus, Sam, why you gotta make me crazy, huh?”

“Don’t mean to...” offers Sam, shy-quiet and flesh-hungry. He aches for touch like this, so he lets Dean rut and hump against the curve for a while longer, arching his back to get the angle _just right_ for a slip-in.

Soon, Dean gets desperate. He starts toying with Sam’s waistband; tugs the fabric down past the cleft of his ass. Pulls his own dick out like he pulls back to get a good look — Sam’s pretty pussy, glistening in the moonlight.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean swears, his breath shaky. “ _Sammy_.”

Sam’s body flushes with heat, and a blurt of slut-slick colours his hole cream-white. He can feel Dean’s eyes on the slit between his folds.

“You gotta let me,” says Dean, hazy and heady; trembling with want. “Gotta let me, Sammy, I’m serious.”

“ _Dean_...” They both know it’s wrong, but it’s been building for so long and Sam’s too weak to say _no_ for much longer.

“Come on,” hisses Dean, pressing himself tight along Sam’s back. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Sam shivers. The soft swell of Dean’s cockhead presses at his hole like a phantom limb. _Please, j_ _ust take it. It’s yours._

The room’s full of shudder-breaths and Sam not saying _yes_. So Dean, lips at little brother’s ear, whispers one last plea for the pinkish prize he’s coveted for far too long —

“What’s the point of having a pussy if you ain’t gonna use it?”

**Author's Note:**

> find more of my wolfish tales on [tumblr](http://weefaol.tumblr.com/) <3


End file.
